


To Touch The Sky

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Other Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-07
Updated: 2006-03-07
Packaged: 2018-08-16 00:45:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8080180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: Trip's relationship with Malcolm is great. So why is he worrying? (08/03/2003)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

Malcolm Reed's head fell back into the pillows, his hips bucking into the loving touch, as he felt his own completion rushing through his body, and he gave a strangled cry, burying his fingers into the back of his lover. His scream was almost immediately swallowed by a pair of gentle lips, as Trip Tucker bent over him to join him in his sensation, shuddering and gasping out his own release.

"Jesus, Mal," the chief engineer panted, rolling onto his side and taking his lover with him, "one of these days you're gonna be the death of me."

"No stamina, Commander?" Reed teased.

"Ha! I'll show you stamina...later."

Trip let his head come to rest on the smaller man's shoulder, snuggling against his lover, nuzzling a little at his neck as he pulled him close.

They had been together for almost three months now, enjoying their limited time together. But Trip knew only too well that there was still a question unanswered. He had tried to answer it, back then after their first time together, but he had to admit it had been a rather cheap response.

//"Where do we go from here?"

"Wherever our hearts will take us."

"Good enough for me."//

It might have been good enough for Mal back then. It just wasn't good enough for him any more. Trip had uttered his love for their ship's armory officer, a love that he had felt since he had gotten to know Malcolm Reed, the first time he'd been near death and delusional from fever, the next time while severely intoxicated. To his own surprise Malcolm hadn't pressed charges against him, no, he had been given love in return. Archer knew about their relationship, more or less. The Captain had played matchmaker of sorts by making Trip jealous, and it had worked just fine. And as long as it didn't interfere with their job nobody would ask any questions. The ships physician, the Denobulan doctor Phlox, was as well aware of their connection, but aside from scientific curiosity he hadn't asked anything, nor spoken about it. Human relationships were still a riddle for the alien, which could come in quite handy sometimes.

Trip sighed in contentment as Malcolm closed his arms around him, placing a light kiss on his temple.

Since the incident on the planet's surface, where his severe allergic reaction toward a certain plant had almost killed Trip, this spot and the way Mal used to caress it had turned out to be of great comfort.

"Tell me," Mal murmured.

"It's nothin'," Trip replied shortly.

"Uhm-hm. I know your nothing, Trip."

"Really, I'm fine."

"Just a little diving into the blues?"

"Somethin' like that, yeah. Really, lover. Nothin' to worry 'bout."

He lifted his head a little to meet Malcolm's lips in a soft kiss, and pulled the blanket closer around their entwined bodies. He loved Malcolm, loved their erotic encounters, the way Malcolm used his hands or his tongue on his body, or the soft sounds he made when Trip used his on him. He remembered the first time he had felt Malcolm's lips closing around him as if it had been only yesterday.  
Trip had been no stranger to that kind of eroticism, but with Mal it had felt as if he could have come then and there. Which he actually had, Trip smiled. And when he had found the courage to return the favour, it had been kind of a revelation. Malcolm Reed, reserved and controlled armory officer, had moaned and panted his name when he had clenched his fists into the sheets, not wanting to hurt Trip, while he had shuddered in the sensations Trip's hands and lips had given him. The image of his lover, totally engrossed in his pleasure, was one Trip often took into his sleep. Yes, Charles 'Trip' Tucker III was one happy man. But still—there was something he wanted. He just couldn't tell what this 'something' was.

Really, he loved Malcolm.

He felt as comfortable with this man as with no one else before. Somehow, an uneasy feeling in his stomach stayed.

"Trip?"

"Hmmm?"

"Time to go."

Malcolm Reed watched as his lover slowly came around, snaking an arm over his waist to pull him into a lazy kiss.

"Don't wanna," Tucker murmured sleepily. "We have to. Duty calls."

"Didn't hear anythin'."

"Sorry. I did."

Malcolm bent over and placed a light kiss on Trip's temple before he slipped out of bed and grabbed his clothes. Their relationship was still a secret onboard the ship, which was a small miracle in itself. News spread faster than lightning on a Starship, he knew from experience. Reed looked back, took in the naked form of his lover, spread out on his stomach under the blanket, and he smiled briefly. They were a couple for three months now, and, surprisingly for himself, he had fallen head over heels when he had laid eyes on one Charles Tucker III for the first time, but had shoved it aside until those terrible three days when Trip's unexpected allergy had threatened to take this man from him for good.  
That, and the somehow sad and lost way Trip had called for him in his delusional state had driven him to the southerner. Trip had expressed his love for him while in fever, and Malcolm hadn't been sure at first that it had been real. So he had tried to withdraw and return to a more professional level. It hadn't worked; he still had had rather disturbing dreams concerning his senior officer in different stages of undress and...well.

And then he had just jumped the gun and acted on his feelings, risking everything—and winning. Malcolm smiled when he remembered their first time together. He didn't really know but assumed that he was the first man for Trip; and that this fact was the reason Trip seemed to feel a little uneasy around him every now and then, seeking some distance once in a while.

Malcolm sighed inwardly. He had patience, he would wait for his lover to come to him, and he wouldn't rush the matter. There was too much at stake for him. It wasn't exactly a first time experience, but to love like he loved Trip Tucker was a little, well, new even for him, and he had to get used to this feelings himself. But Malcolm had decided this was worth it, and he wouldn't run, not from this man, not ever again.

"Trip? Don't wait too long." Malcolm lightly kissed the exposed shoulder blades, running his hand over the spine teasingly.

"Hmmmm."

With a last wanton look Malcolm slipped out of his lover's quarters. Nobody noticed. A small miracle, indeed.

Trip slowly climbed out of the warm nest he had shared with Malcolm only minutes before. He loved the lazy mornings, the way he would wake and feel the warmth of his lover's hard body snuggled against his own, the way those sleep-fogged gray eyes looked at him when Malcolm wasn't fully awaken yet. It told him more than anything else that Malcolm Reed trusted him, trusted him enough to give up his ever- present control and fall into a deep sleep. Reed was a light sleeper and easily disturbed, but Trip had been able occasionally to watch the other man in his sleep, to take in the sharp-angled features, peacefully relaxed, or sometimes twitch when the man dreamed. Trip Tucker had had his share of relationships before, oh yes, but he had never had something like this. He loved it. It was what he wanted. So why did he feel so—edgy sometimes?

Trip took a sip of his coffee and shuddered in disgust as he noticed the brew was cold already. Sitting in the mess hall and concentrating on some work after his shift was over wasn't actually his style but somehow he didn't seem to be able to return to his quarters. He knew he would be awaited...

"Trip? Commander?"

Trip realized that he was talked to, and that the person approaching him was Malcolm, a slightly puzzled and concerned expression on his face.

"What is it?"

"This PADD must be very fascinating. You have been studying it for about five minutes now."

"I'm just setting up the routine inspection schedule for every work console on the bridge. Nothing that can't wait...for a dark handsome stranger."

He grinned at Malcolm apologetically, and received a faint smile in return. Damn, that man could caress him with his eyes only. Not to mention undress him completely...

"If you're already on it, my console seems to be a bit renitent lately. It reacts a little sluggishly," Malcolm mentioned incidentally.

"Serious?"

Reed shook his head. "Not yet."

"Good. It is scheduled for the day after tomorrow. Think you can handle it 'til then?"

"Should be no problem."

Trip noticed a short hesitation.

"Somethin' else?"

"I wanted to ask you if you would like to have dinner with me tonight."

"Uhm—yeah, sure. Eight?"

"My quarters?"

Trip nodded an affirmation at his lover and looked after the departing form, smiling admiringly at the way the uniform was stretching over certain parts of Malcolm Reed's anatomy. The man was a sight for sore eyes, that much was certain. With a regretful sigh he returned his attention back to his work. Daily routine.

When Trip glanced at the clock he noticed with surprise it was already a quarter past eight and he realized he had left Malcolm waiting for fifteen minutes now; which wasn't his style at all. No time for a shower, if he didn't want to keep his lover waiting any longer. With a curse he stopped at his room, threw the PADD on the bed and left, heading toward Malcolm's.

Trip's guilt increased when he entered Reed's quarters after hearing the soft 'come'.

Malcolm just looked at him and nodded invitingly to the chair.

"Mal, I'm sorry I'm late. I forgot the time about work."

"Routine inspection schedules do that to you sometimes," Malcolm answered, voice level, and Trip cursed inwardly about his own senselessness.

Ouch.

But Reed had every right to react a little touchy here, it was his invitation and he had—forgotten. Then he noticed something that had slipped his perception before: Malcolm had actually decorated his quarters.

There were several pictures of stellar constellation; one wall was showed a large picture of a rough coastline, the waves breaking into white foam against the rocky shores. Another one displayed a snapshot of a thunderstorm, the clouds split by a huge lightning. The Keys, Trip recognized the landscape with a sudden twinge of something inside him. And on the desk he saw what he only could describe as artifacts: something that looked suspiciously like a dagger. The whole quarter was illuminated by indirect light every here and there. Trip was almost speechless.

"Mal, I...wow. This looks—nice." //Lame, Tucker, real lame. What the hell's wrong with you?//

"Nice." Malcolm cocked one eyebrow as he repeated the word. "That's—one way to put it."

Trip ducked and winced silently. If there were ten ways to make such a bad situation worse he would much likely find the eleventh.

"Did dinner survive?" he muttered, avoiding Malcolm's gaze.

"Barely."

His lover lifted the covers from the plates and pointed toward the meal he had prepared.

"Cat fish?" Trip breathed. "It's not my birthday or something?"

"Or something."

"What...oh, no, don't tell me I missed an anniversary?"

"It's not important."

"Mal." Trip stepped closer to his lover, wrapping his arms around the other man.  
"It is."

Malcolm sighed and wriggled himself out of Trip's embrace. "Three months. Today. Not a real anniversary, but I thought...well..."

"You thought it would be a good reason to celebrate? You're right."

Trip smiled at his lover, broadly, widely, and sat down at the table. "C'mon, let's not waste this any more than we already did. I wanna know how ya cook."

Malcolm smiled back at him, joining him at the table, producing a bottle of exquisite white wine, and Trip nodded, burying his fork into a slice of helpless fish. He smiled at his lover as he ate, tasted the wine, laughed and joked with him, enjoying their evening together. The feeling of unease that threatened to break the surface was shoved away every time.

Trip looked down on Malcolm's sleeping form, laying close beside him. His lover looked relaxed and a little disheveled from their lovemaking, //make-up sex, Trip, ole buddy, that's what it was, face it//. Malcolm had forgiven him, //again//, but Trip wasn't so sure if he would do it again and again. //And that's what he will have to do, you know that. How's that ole saying: you always hurt the one you love?// Trip cringed at the unwanted thoughts, at the feeling of sudden panic that made him gasp. //Hell, Tucker, what's wrong with you? There you are, laying in bed with the man you love, for goodness sake, the one and only, for the rest of your life, and you panic? How screwed up are you?// A lot, buddy, a lot. Trip took low even breaths to calm himself down, watching Malcolm stir and mutter something in his sleep, snuggling closer to him and wrapping an arm around his waist.

//HE loves you, he trusts you, in his sleep. //

Damn.

Trip placed a soft kiss on his peacefully sleeping lover and sighed lowly, closing his eyes, hoping that Morpheus would find him eventually.

When Malcolm Reed woke in the morning he stretched lazily, smiling with the memories of the night before, and turned. The spot beside him was still warm—and empty.

Trip had no idea how he managed to go through the day, with his conscience nagging at him every time he happened to look at Malcolm. When he had woken up this morning in his lover's bed all he had wanted was to wrap himself around Mal's slender form, enjoy the heat radiating from said body and kiss his sleeping beauty awake. He had done nothing of the above. The feeling of tenderness, the love for this man at his side had just welled up inside him and had left him breathless—and panicked.

And he had fled, again.

Trip didn't understand himself lately, didn't understand what was going on: on one side he should be happy—and honestly, he was—for having found his love, on the other side, the feeling, the simple sight of Malcolm Reed left him feeling ashamed and guilty, making him avoid any contact.

//What the hell is it with you Trip Tucker?//

He had buried himself in work until deep in the night, not sure if he could stand Malcolm's expressive gray eyes, the question he knew would be in them. Now he had fallen on his bed fully clothed and utterly exhausted and thankful for it. Sleep sneaked up on him without Trip Tucker realizing it.

Malcolm frowned when he saw Trip the next morning. His lover hadn't shown up the other night, and a quick check had told Malcolm that Trip had engrossed himself in his work until three in the morning. No wonder he looked like death warmed over. What Malcolm didn't understand was why Trip should ever do such thing. He was avoiding him, that much was clear, but for what reason Malcolm could only guess. He sighed inwardly, returning his attention back to his console. Maybe the moment had come. It always did. The moment the other one had enough of him, and would dump him. Malcolm could almost hear the soft southern voice he loved so much say the words he hated so much:

"Sorry, Mal, but you know how it goes. It was fine as long as it lasted, but...let's just be friends, okay?" Oh yes, talking about those words, Malcolm Reed should have many 'friends'.

His console beeped the same moment he heard Travis swear and T'Pol call for the captain.

"What's going on?" Archer requested, storming out of his ready room.

"An Ion storm, captain," the Vulcan woman announced calmly.

"A what?"

They looked at each other, confused and worried after T'Pol had explained the nature of this stellar phenomenon and its several stages of intensity. The one they were currently facing wasn't one of the real massive ones, but serious enough to cause damage.

"Okay, so let's try to avoid running into it. Travis, you set the course.

Trip..."

Malcolm listened half-heartedly to the commands, his attention on his console. The darn thing was giving mixed signals, and he tried to figure out what was wrong with it all of a sudden.

Then the ship was hit by a giant's fist.

"Damn, this is getting heavy. Any damage yet?" Trip called out to his crew.  
The ship was vigorously shaken by the ion storm, bucking like a mustang fighting against the saddle. Somewhere Trip heard a sizzle, saw sparks as another machine crumpled. Damn, damn, damn.

"Archer to Tucker!"

The voice coming over the intercom was barely audible, overrun by static.

"Go ahead, Cap'n."

"If you have a minute, Trip, could you come up here? Malcolm's having trouble..."

"Bloody hell...!"

Trip froze as he heard the serious cursing from his lover, accompanied by the roar of an explosion, and a cry of pain. God, his console...he had reported having problems with it, and he had pushed it away!

"Jon?"

He didn't want to know, yet...

Archer didn't answer, but Trip could hear him calling for Phlox. The ship bucked again, almost throwing Trip off his feet.

"Commander..."

The chief engineer clenched his fists at the voice of one member of his staff calling him for some problem or another. As much as he longed to know what had happened to Malcolm, as much as he wanted, no, needed to be at his side, needed to see his lover was all right, at this moment he was on duty.

And duty demanded his full attention.

"On my way, crewman..."

//Hold on, Mal. Just hold on...please...//

Hours later the storm was over. Trip found himself sitting on the stairs to the engine, forearms resting on his thighs and face buried in his hands, feeling downright exhausted. A part of his mind nagged that he shouldn't be here, that there was someone waiting for him, that he should at least ask how Malcolm was, the man he called his lover. But somehow he just couldn't move a single muscle. The feeling of utter helplessness and numbness didn't do anything to ease the guilt he felt.

"Trip?"

Slowly it occurred to Trip that somebody was talking to him, and that this somebody was his captain, standing on top of the stairs.

"Cap'n?"

"He needs you," Archer just said, looking down on him, frowning.

"I know," was all he managed to get out.

"He's in sickbay, Trip."

"He all right?"

"No."

Tucker swallowed. What kind of a lover was he anyway? Just a little problem, and he started running—again, a tiny voice nagged. Oh, shuddup. Archer stretched out a hand to help Trip up and he took it tiredly.

"Console?"

Archer nodded.

"Don't know why exactly. Darn thing exploded right into his face and sent him flying. Trip," Archer inhaled, "he's injured, badly. Phlox doesn't know if he..."

No, god no. This time it screamed, calling him an idiot, a fool, an incompetent moron. If he had just looked after that console earlier, when he just had listened to Mal...smart move, Tucker. Screwed up all over again.

Only this time it could cost lives.

"Sickbay, Trip," Archer reminded him softly.

Trip could only nod. He would face the consequences, whether he liked them or not.

He didn't like it.

Trip was standing at the door to sickbay for what seemed to him like ages, listening to the bleeping sound of the monitors, indicating that there was life in that battered, burned and bloody form which was laying on the biobed, unmoving and unconscious. Trip had come here accompanied by Jon Archer, who pushed him into the room carefully and all, but forced the stunned man down on a chair by Malcolm's side.

Trip had reached out to touch his unconscious lover, but had pulled back his hands immediately, feeling insecure all of a sudden. When the console had exploded it had sent shards of metal with sharp edges all over the bridge, but most of them toward the armory officer. Not to mention plasma that had burned itself into his flesh, and the impact of the explosion which had thrown Malcolm over the bridge and into the wall behind him, the force with which he had collided with it cracking four ribs, fracturing his skull and dislocating one shoulder. Due to his fast reaction his face had remained relatively unharmed, but the arms and upper abdomen looked as if some madman had tried to make sushi out of it—fried sushi. Phlox had done his best to patch Malcolm up again, but the healing work was up to the body. And a human body's reaction was quite unpredictable, as the doctor had cited. Trip had simply watched Malcolm's chest rise and fall, his mind screaming at him 'your fault, look what you've done' until he couldn't stand it any longer and fled.

Only to break down in his quarters completely.

Now Trip was just standing in the dim light of the late night illumination, like every night in the past days, watching his unconscious lover. He wasn't even able to take his hand, to make his presence known, though he longed to speak to Malcolm. But even more he wanted to hear that slightly hoarse British drawl again, wanted to hear that voice dripping down his spine like honey, as Archer had so rightfully put it once. On the other hand he wanted to run, flee from the sight of the severely injured man, wanted to hide from the feeling of guilt and the little voice that still told him this was all his responsibility.

As long as it didn't interfere with duty...well, obviously it had.

Trip sighed deeply. He would have to make a decision sooner or later. Tucker started at the mere image of spending his life without this man at his side, the sudden feeling of fear and loneliness the sheer thought awoke, and he swallowed. None of his former relationships had worked out. He had had fun with whatever partner he had at that time, and one time he even had thought of marriage, but...it just hadn't worked out. Every time he had hurt the one he had thought he loved, sooner or later. Trip didn't want to hurt Malcolm.

But he had already done so.

Moreover, he had put his life at risk because of his carelessness. "I'm so sorry, Mal," he whispered, fighting the sudden pain that threatened to display itself in a hot moisture in his eyes. Charles Tucker III. did not cry. Not even over a love lost.

"Commander?"

Trip whirled around, startled to see Dr. Phlox behind him. "You are up late," he breathed while trying to get his raging heartbeat under control.

"I am the physician. As long as there is a patient here who needs me I will stay. But what about you, commander? You should get some rest..."

"'s all right, doc. I'm fine. It's him you should worry 'bout."

"Fear not, commander, I do. But he will be quite—upset when he wakes up and finds you in such a disarranged state. "

Trip's head whipped up. "Did you say 'when', doc?"

"Indeed, Commander. Lieutenant Reed is healing well, I expect him to wake up come morning. He will have to stay in sickbay for at least one more week, I assume, and another on sick leave, but by then he should be fine. "

"Should?"

"Of course there's always the possibility of complications, but I don't expect none. He will recover fully."

"Even—his hands?"

"Yes, commander. Even his hands."

Trip exhaled explosively, seeking support at the next best wall. Malcolm would wake up again, would make it. He would be able to touch him and be touched, to see those piercing gray eyes again, would see them cloud with desire...

He would have to tell him.

"Thanks, doc."

Trip pushed himself from the wall and walked out of sickbay without even looking back.

Phlox noticed the way the Commander had to fight for his composure, or the stiffening of the body when he had walked out of sickbay. One should think Tucker would be grateful to hear that his partner was on the way of healing.  
But no. The Denoblian physician shook his head. Humans. He would never understand their behavior. There was much more to learn about them.

And he would watch these two specimen closely. Very closely.

Malcolm woke to a world of dizziness and blur. When trying to blink some of the haze around his mind away, he looked directly into a pair of alien blue eyes. That, in addition to the smell and the sound made it clear—sickbay.

Again?

Bloody hell.

He groaned.

"Lieutenant, you are back among the living, as I see. How do you feel?"

"Uhm...Don't know exactly. How am I 'sposed to feel?"

That earned him a broad smile—Phlox style.

"Well, considering your injuries, the time you were unconscious, and the progress of the healing process, you are supposed to feel—fine."

"Ah."

"And? Do you?"

"I think so."

Memory came back slowly. Malcolm remembered the failure of his console, a spark, an explosion—plasma scorching into his flesh, as he had raised his arms reflexively to protect his face...

God, his hands! He couldn't feel his right arm...Except for a faint itch. Panic almost took his breath away as Malcolm fumbled for his right arm.

Phlox caught his hand.

"Careful, Lieutenant. You don't want to hurt it...or yourself."

"It?"

Malcolm dared to look down his body, down his right arm, and gasped. The forearm and hand were covered in something that looked suspiciously like jelly, silvery-white, glistening moistly. When taking a closer look Malcolm could make out small white, threadlike tendrils wrapped around his arm, and even—disappearing into his body, pulsating once in a while. Faint shades of blue and green were flickering over—it. Malcolm didn't feel any pain, just an itching every now and then and a more general numbness in his limb that prevented his hand from moving.

Whatever this thing was, it seemed to be in a symbiosis with his body, covering his arm where skin and flesh had been burned away by the plasma.

Malcolm could see his raw flesh shining through the—creature? A featherlike touch caught his attention, and he held his breath. Involuntarily Malcolm had raised his other arm—which hadn't been burned as badly—to touch the creature, and now one silvery tendril was caressing his fingers, tickling.

"Ah, I knew you would become friends."

"Friends? What IS this?"

"It's a—uhm, a jellyfish."

"A jellyfish."

"Yes."

"A jellyfish?!"

"Lieutenant, I strongly advise you to calm down. You don't want to hurt its feelings," Phlox chided him gently.

"Feelings? It's a jellyfish!" Malcolm exclaimed, slightly more agitated than before.

"An empathic jellyfish. Which, should it have slipped your attention, is currently partly embedded in your arm in a symbiotic relationship with your body—and your mind, I dare say—to help it heal properly. "

"A jellyfish?" Part of him told him that he sounded like a broken record.

"Empathic symbiotic jellyfish. Which will save your hand. And which likes you." Phlox sounded downright pleased.

"Huh?"

The tiny white tendril had wrapped itself around his forefinger, tugging gently as if wanting to catch his attention. Looking down into the swirling colors, the dark haired man sighed in quiet surrender.

"Great. You're not intending to become my new pet, aren't you?" Of course the jellyfish didn't answer, despite, swirling clouds of blue roaming over its surface. Somehow it had a soothing effect, and Malcolm felt his eyelids droop as he watched the play of changing, swirling color. The tendrils kept caressing his skin as he fell asleep again.

The next day found Malcolm Reed in a much better condition. He no longer felt dizzy, or suffered from a headache, which Phlox considered a very good sign. The doctor smiled to himself when he actually caught his patient tenderly caressing the jellyfish on his arm, allowing the creature to wrap tendrils around his fingers or watching in fascination as it created several color clouds for him. Some crewmembers visited Malcolm, bringing him news about the ship's condition or filling him on with the latest rumors. The day went by, and Phlox noticed a growing restlessness in his patient. The doctor had a faint idea what must have produced it, and he was more than glad when the next visitor turned out to be the captain. Archer had been kept up-to-date with Malcolm's condition, of course, but Phlox knew he liked to see for himself.

"Doctor. How is the patient?"

"Ah, captain. I'm quite glad you found the time to drop by. Our Mr. Reed is quite impatient, so to speak. "

"How so?"

"I could be mistaken, but from my judgment I'd say he's missing someone here."  
Phlox let his eye ridges rise slightly.

"Trip never showed up?"

"Oh yes, he did. At two in the morning. The last time I saw him was two days ago, and he never even asked about Mr. Reed's condition since then. "

Phlox watched Archer's face closely, knowing the captain well enough by now to understand the frown or the small twisting around the lips. Archer was thinking the same as he was: not good.

"Thank you, doctor."

"My pleasure. Captain."

"I'll pay our lieutenant a visit now."

Phlox smiled and turned back to his tasks at hand.

Archer smiled broadly as he approached the biobed currently occupied by Reed..  
"Malcolm. How you're doin?"

The Armory Officer looked up, eyes lighting up at his visitor.

"Captain. According to doctor Phlox I'm making progress. But I will have to stay here," he grimaced," until I regain the feeling in my arm and hand."

"It's numb?" Archer asked worried, noticing for the first time the strange—thing—that was wrapped around Malcolm's limb. "What is this thing?"

"A jellyfish, captain."

"A what?"

"Jellyfish. Hey, sshhhh, everything's all right." Archer almost felt his jaw hit the floor at the way Malcolm addressed it, was talking to that—thing. Almost soothing. Taking a closer look Archer nearly shuddered at the colors it was producing—a yellowish green that looked real sick to the eye. It changed into a calming turquoise blue with the soothing words.

"What are you doing?"

"It's empathic, Captain. Seems for one reason or another it doesn't like you."

The last words were uttered in an apologetic tone, almost sheepishly.

"Hrmmph. Yeah, well, not everything has to like me, Malcolm. As long as it does something for you...I assume, knowing our good doctor, it's supposed to do just that."

"It's stimulating the healing process, activating the production of new tissue and skin. As far as I understood, it can even help reproduce nerve cells."

Archer looked duely impressed, even if he was less than enthusiastic about their Denoblian doctor's choice of natural remedies. He had been given 'eel treatment' before and hadn't felt it necessary to repeat it all too soon if he could help it.

"That's good, real good, Malcolm. So you'll be able to use your hand again, huh?"

"Entirely, captain, without any loss in tactile sensitivity or motor functions."  
"That's what we all were afraid of."

"All, captain?" Malcolm inquired calmly.

Archer understood the question only too well. If Trip really never showed up...

"I don't know what's wrong with him, Malcolm," he said quietly, watching as the face of the man in front of him almost fell, then closed up and turned into a polite but dismissive mask. He was looking at the officer right now, something he hadn't been accustomed to when being off duty lately.

"I'll talk to him."

"Don't."

It was said so lowly Archer had almost missed it.

"Not? Malcolm, if he..."

"If he wanted to visit me, Captain, he would have. The only conclusion is, he doesn't. So why force him to?" The question sounded almost philosophical, full of acceptance of the fact and acknowledging that life went on despite the pain the problem raising this particular question had brought forth.

"Malcolm..."

Archer saw a faint, sad smile.

"I will talk to him. Thank you, but it is my problem, and mine alone."

"It involves two men I consider good friends, Malcolm."

"Thank you, Captain."

Archer watched Malcolm a few more seconds and decided to let the matter rest.  
For now.

"Okay, Malcolm. Your decision. As long as it doesn't involve the captain..."

"I understand."

"I knew you would."

Archer squeezed Malcolm's shoulder encouragingly.

"Rest now, Malcolm. I'll see you later."

"Good night, captain."

"Night, Malcolm."

Trip didn't show up that evening.

Malcolm waited three more days. Trip never came.

At least not that Malcolm ever noticed. He didn't see the hollow faced shadow hovering at the door of sickbay every night, watching him sleep, until he stirred for the first time in the morning, hiding in the shadows when Phlox looked after his patients or another crewmember happened to pass by.

After those three days Malcolm would have gone ballistic, hadn't it been for the jellyfish on his arm. The wounds were healing nicely, and Phlox was very satisfied with the process, especially since Malcolm was regaining tactile sensitivity. At the fourth day the jellyfish removed its tendrils from Malcolm's arm without him even noticing it.

When Phlox took a look at his patient the next time, he grabbed a small glass bucket and held it under Malcolm's arm.

"Time to say good-bye to your friend, Lieutenant."

The jellyfish tugged on Malcolm's fingers again and slowly slid down his arm, curling itself into a neat white ball and dipping into the small aquarium. It left only fresh pink skin behind.

The whole accident hadn't even left a scar, and Phlox's final examination showed no lasting damage to the nerves, for which Malcolm was utterly thankful. The limb still felt a bit numb, and Phlox expected it to become tender within the next day. With instructions for some physiotherapy Malcolm was released.

The first trip took him to his quarters where he allowed himself a luxurious shower, then a change of clothes. He wasn't on duty, so that meant no uniform. Next on the agenda was a meal, as well as finding Trip. It was coincidence, or luck, that he found his wayward lover in the mess hall, sitting at a table alone, on his own. He was staring into a half filled tumbler, and Malcolm groaned inwardly. Not again.

Trip heard the door swoosh open and knew without the need to turn that "the moment" had come. Malcolm had been released from sickbay about an hour ago. Archer had made sure he knew it. So he could act. And act he had done, he thought wryly. He had gone straight for the mess hall, which was thankfully almost deserted at this hour.

He had secretly feared the moment he would have to look at his lover again, would have to face Malcolm, look into those storm-cloud eyes and see the disappointment in them, the hurt, the anger. He knew it would be there. It always was. And now they were here, in the mess hall, on their own, and "the moment " had come.

"Malcolm," Trip said quietly though he felt his heart racing like a yearling in spring. Just not that joyful.

"Trip." The answer was so Malcolm-like, cool and reserved.

"It's good to see you're...healed."

"You could have seen it earlier."

Trip just looked away. The sudden rush of guilt made his throat dry. God, he had screwed up again, big time. No need to avoid it any longer. Take it like a Tucker

"Mal, I...I'm sorry. It's not that I...I don't..."

"You don't what, Trip? What's wrong with you? What did I miss?" The voice was still calm, collected, almost accepting. Accepting of what? Tucker's failures? Had Malcolm already seen them before Trip had realized the error of his ways.  
Probably.

Malcolm was good at knowing things no one else saw right away. When Trip looked up he looked directly into those gray eyes. Confusion, worry, and—yes, there it was, anger and betrayal. He knew it. And he couldn't take it any longer. All Trip wanted was to get away from that accusing gaze that was breaking his heart. How could he explain something he didn't understand himself? How could he explain what he had done...there were no words good enough. Trip jumped to his feet, swaying for a moment from the alcohol coursing through his system. He hadn't eaten much in the last few days, almost nothing today, so it had more effect than it usually had. He headed towards the door.

"I'm sorry..."

Trip felt a hand close around his upper arm with a vice like grip, pulling him around to face one now very pissed off armory officer. Tucker swallowed at the sight of those gray eyes sparking lightning at him. Malcolm Reed might not be the tallest of people, but most certainly he was a man one shouldn't mess with.  
"Oh no, you don't," Reed warned. "I want to know what's going on here."

Trip shook his arm free. "There is nothing going on. Now, if you please..."

"No, I don't please, Trip."

Trip felt the cold steel of the wall pressing into his back as he was slammed against it, held down by the wrists, Malcolm's face close to his.

"Unhand me, Lieutenant!" he demanded coldly—well, at least on the outside, Starfleet protocol and training his final straw.

"No, Trip. I want answers."

"This is insubordination..."

"Fine, then it is. You can demote me to crewman second class, if you wish. Hell, you can throw me into the brig for the rest of our trip if you find it necessary. It's worth it. But I want answers, and I want them now!" came the snapped reply, eyes sparking more.

"Lieutenant..." Trip warned.

//Concentrate on being the officer, the superior. Don't let the personal part play into this. Distance, Tucker, distance. You can do it. You got your rank for more than your good looks and charm, damnit! You are a commander, he is a lieutenant. And he's Malcolm//, a part of him cried desperately. //Malcolm Reed, my lover. My partner. The man I want to spend the rest of my life with!//

"I don't care what punishment you have in mind for me for this, I don't care if the whole crew sees us here," Malcolm said, voice low and almost soft. He didn't raise his voice any more than he would need to carry a normal conversation, and that was what was the scary part, Trip thought. Reed's voice was so intense without being loud. "I don't recall doing anything to deserve a treatment like this. So, you better have a damn good reason for it because I won't let you go without one. So, as long as you don't want to explain some real nasty bruises on your wrists to the good doctor: talk to me!" Malcolm was furious, the fury visible in eyes that had held love and promise not so long ago. A life time, Trip thought sadly.

Malcolm had never thought that control could completely evade him like this. Fury rose inside him, battering against walls built from years of military training; walls that were now about to break. And it was Trip making him do it. Trip Tucker, the man he had slept with, had made love to, who had managed to get so much under his skin in such a short time that he had lowered his guard and extended his trust.

He was startled the moment he looked into Trip's face, the moment he saw the shadows under his eyes. Despite the obvious outer signs of distress, Tucker was trying his best to play cool, pulling rank to get distance. But what he couldn't see was why.

There was something more in Trip's eyes, a glimpse of something the other man desperately tried to fight down. It was this little something Malcolm clung to. All his chances were depending on the hope that he didn't interpret the little sparkle wrong.

He loved Trip Tucker, with all he was worth. And he was very sure his love was returned. So all he had to do was to get his lover to talk to him. Quite easy indeed.

It was Charles Tucker III he was facing here. The man could go from being an emotional waterfall to the close-mouthed man the world had ever seen. Especially when something hit too close to home.

"Mal...

Trip squirmed under his grip.

"No, Trip. If you want me, tell me. If not, tell me as well. But tell me. That's the least you can do, don't you think?"

He felt Trip tense, then become lax all of a sudden. "All right. But not here. My quarters, half an hour, okay?"

Malcolm studied Trip's expression, looking for a giveaway. He didn't see any.  
"All right." He released his lover. "I'll be there. And you'll better be as well."

With that he released Trip and walked away.

Trip Tucker paced in his quarters. The half hour was almost over and he knew Malcolm would be here on time. His lover had every right for an explanation.  
The only problem was: he had no idea what to tell him.

The swoosh of his door opening told him that he better come up with something unless he wanted to face a very upset armory officer again.

"Trip."

"Malcolm."

Malcolm entered his quarters, piercing eyes watching his every move, as the lieutenant sat down on his bed. Not the chair, no, it had to be the bed. Damn.

"Listen, Mal, I know I've been quite an asshole lately..."

"We agree on that."

"I'm sorry."

"Not good enough."

That voice again. The cool, controlled officer voice. The neutral voice. The damn unreadable voice.

"What d'ya wanna hear?"

"Does the axiom 'the truth and nothing but the truth' tell you anything?"

Ouch. Malcolm was really angry with him.

"The truth?" Trip took in a shuddering breath. "Jeez, Mal, I wish I knew."

"Let me help you out. Why haven't you visited me in sickbay?" came the pointed question.

"I have."

"At two in the morning?"

"I just—wasn't able to look at you."

Malcolm didn't say anything, which made Trip even more nervous. If he had cursed, or shouted at him, yes, he could handle that. Anger gave him something to work with.—But this calmness was unnerving.

"Because?" Reed finally asked.

"Because it was my fault. If I'd just listen to ya, when ya notified me 'bout the problems with that console of yers, it might've never happened," the engineer desperately tried to put his feelings and thoughts into words. He knew he was doing a lousy job at it.

"It might," Malcolm conceded. "But what about the other circumstances? Ion storm, remember? As far as I can tell, Trip Tucker isn't omnipotent. Did I miss something there?"

Double ouch. Sarcasm added to the list. Trip let his head sink. "Yeah, I know, but..."

"Trip Tucker, don't tell me you lost your self confidence."

"Huh?"

"That bad?" This was uttered in a soft voice, the tone Trip knew and loved, the tone that had been able to calm him down every time in the past.

"Uhm..."

"One question, and I demand an honest answer. Do you love me?" Voice even softer now. Good God...

Trip looked at his lover, meeting his calm gaze. This tiny little question appeared to cover it all. He wanted to answer it, wanted to declare his undying love for this wonderful man. Unfortunately...

"I don't know," he whispered and turned around, fist clenched at his sides, not able to look at Malcolm this time, not wanting to see the pain and hurt in his eyes at the rejection. He had known he would hurt him, had known it would happen. God, how he wished he could make it all right.

"I see."

He heard movement, and Trip just waited for the swoosh of the door, indicating that Malcolm would have left. Left his quarters, this section of the ship, and with it his life. Simply left—because he was an incapable idiot.

Somehow this seemed familiar, dej vu definitely. Last time, Malcolm hadn't left.  
This time he didn't either.

Tender arms embraced him from behind, pulled him toward a compact hard body, and he reacted instinctively, leaning back into the comforting, reassuring warmth. He was turned in this embrace, a thumb slowly caressing his temple.

"Mal..." Trip choked.

"Trip, tell me something. I always assumed I am your first man. Am I right?"  
Malcolm asked, voice low, soft, loving.

"What has that..?"

"Am I?"

"Yeah," Trip whispered, stunned about the unexpected tenderness.

"Quite a change, isn't it?" There was light amusement, but a lot of seriousness in the British accented voice.

"Tell me about it." Trip felt as if a heavy burden was lifted from his heart.  
"Mal...I know it wasn't fair but...this is a starship. I am your senior officer, and you are always the first one to run into the danger, thanks to your job. That I knew from the beginning. I don't like, I don't have to like it, but I can handle it." He stopped his flow of words, unable to continue.

"Then what can't you handle?"

"I'm scared..." Trip breathed in a soft sigh, "for you...and of you..."

"Of me? What have I done?"

"Loving me..."

Malcolm's whole demeanor changed as he stiffened, tightening his embrace.

"Let me guess: that is something Trip Tucker isn't accustomed to?"

"Not this way...at least," he confessed, voice trembling. "Never like this."

Trip inhaled, trying his best to explain something to Malcolm that he didn't understand completely himself. It wasn't that the love itself scared him, nor the consequences or the responsibility that came along with it.

So what was it then?

Every attempt at this matter appeared to be ineffective as his mind stumbled over the words to describe his feelings.

"I'll hurt ya...always do. Already did. And one thing I really don't wanna do is hurt ya."

"And?"

"Whatcha mean?"

"So you're breaking up with me?" Malcolm questioned reasonably.

"Yeah...no...ah hell, I don't know what to do, Mal." Trip squeezed his eyes shut, hands clenching into fists. His whole frame tensed and he felt like he was torn in two.

"I have a suggestion, Commander."

"Mal..."

"Hear me out," Reed interrupted him, a bit of his command authority creeping into his voice. "Trip, do you want me?"

"Yes." The answer came without hesitation. He didn't need to think about it at all.

"Then you have me. What you should do? Love me. That's all I ask for."

"Mal..."

"We'll deal with whatever life has in its bag for us when it is thrown at us. Deal?"

"Mal..." he tried it again.

Trip didn't get the opportunity to say anything when warm and tender lips claimed his mouth gently, softly brushing over his lips, a wet tongue caressing them, then slipped into the waiting mouth as Trip parted his lips out of instinct. Malcolm cupped his face with both hands, fingertips slowly stroking over the skin of his temples, and he couldn't do anything but lean into the touch, taking in the very sensation that left him breathless, astonished about the depth of care and affection that was transmitted in such a simple gesture. Trip lifted his head to catch his breath again, breaking the kiss and locking his gaze with Malcolm's.

"Mal? How did you know...?" he whispered hoarsely.

"Been there, done that. Running away doesn't help any, on the contrary. As long as you're honest with me, you won't hurt me." Gray eyes held his, asking him to see this truth, understand it, accept it.

Trip fell silent, letting his head sink on his lover's shoulder, feeling safe and secure enveloped in Malcolm's arms. His mind was working on what he had just heard. What Malcolm had just said...he inhaled and moved slightly to look at the man in front of him again, the man who had just, with not much more than a few words, made his world whole again. Something he had heard ages ago, something like an old song, popped up in his mind...words of compassion can change somebody's life...

"Mal? I...thank you."

Reed tilted his head. "What for?"

"For not letting me run."

Malcolm just smiled at him and placed another featherlike kiss on his lips, letting them slowly sink onto the bed. He kept his arms wrapped around Trip, kept the other man closer, stroking his temple once in a while, letting his hand run through the hair of his lover, as Trip fell asleep in his arms.

Trip lay on his bed, sucking and nibbling at the neck of a certain armory officer who was writhing underneath him, giving soft moans, when a more sensitive spot was hit. His hands were wandering over the flat stomach and muscled sides toward the hips, slipping underneath the pants, searching and finding. Malcolm gasped, hips bucking to the sudden contact of skin against skin.

"Trip..."

"Hmmm?" Tucker replied, while making quick work of the offending piece of clothing, letting his lips and tongue continue where his hand had stopped.  
Malcolm's finger's combed through his short blond hair, while he had started panting and moving involuntarily. Trip had to hold him down. "Trip...stop..."

"Huh? Somethin' wrong?"

"No..."

Malcolm pulled him up, plundering his willing mouth, tongue brushing over the parted lips, sucking, while his hands did a little roaming on their own. Trip felt something cool and slick spread over his erection, and Malcolm's hands were back, stroking him deliberately into even more hardness, while he pulled him on top of himself.

"Trip, I...I want you..." Reed whispered huskily, spreading his legs in a wordless invitation.

"Mal...?"

"I want to feel you, Trip. I know you've never done it before, and if you feel uncomfortable with it..."

"You want me—inside you?" he tried to understand, really understand, what his lover was asking for—and offering.

"Yes." Malcolm looked at him, and Trip felt a little knot forming inside him.

"Does that mean...?"

"Only as far as you're comfortable with it. But I really would like you to take me..."

"What...what do I have to do?"

"You will have to prepare me, stretch the muscles, and then follow your instincts..." Malcolm smiled impishly.

He hadn't stopped stroking him, and now he guided Trip gently to where he wanted him, carefully pushing himself. Trip let a well-lubed finger glide into Malcolm and watched in fascination the change in his lover's expression as he probed deeper.

"Add a second..." he was breathlessly directed. "Scissor them, carefully. You can move them a little, it doesn't hurt none too...Lord!"

Trip started at the wheezing exclamation and the sudden buck of Malcolm's hips.  
"Didn't you say it doesn't hurt?"

"It doesn't...on the...contrary...sweet Jesus!" Malcolm almost whimpered. An arm came up, snaking around Trip's neck and pulling him close into a fervent kiss. "God, Trip, I'm...ready...more than...do it..."

Tucker had to admit that, though he had had several encounters with the on the outside reserved armory officer, he had never seen him like that: face flushed, eyes slightly dazed, and panting out his plea to be taken. It was one sight to behold. And it definitely turned him on.

"Follow your instincts, hm?" he murmured as he let Malcolm call the shots and guide him, let himself slip inside his lover.

Malcolm's head fell back on the pillows, eyes closed, and he moaned deep in this throat, his fingers raking over Trip's back and leaving some trails behind, as he met his lover's every move, shivering every time Trip hit that special spot deep inside him. Trip could feel the muscles spasm around him when Malcolm shuddered and pulled his head down, hungry, demanding, needy, and he followed only too willingly, feeling his own release rushing through his body as Malcolm kissed him, silencing his scream of completion effectively with his lover's lips..

He curled himself around the smaller body, embracing Malcolm, the man he loved. He loved, Trip thought. The depth of his own feelings had scared him, and he had tried to run away from them. It had been a futile effort. He sighed, and Malcolm moved in his arms, to look at him.

"Trip? You okay?"

"Yes. Yes, I am. More than okay."

"What were you thinking about?"

"Just—how much I love you, Mal."

"Oh?"

"Mal?"

"Hm?"

"I promise never to run away again. I promise to be honest with you."

"Till death do us part?" Reed smiled.

"Yes, Malcolm Reed. Till death do us part."

Then he bent over and kissed his stunned lover.

"Okay, ladies and gentlemen, new order from Starfleet. We are to change direction and pick up the new ambassador to Vulcan," Archer announced, giving Travis the coordinates.

"So we're playing taxi again for some diplomat, Cap'n?" Trip grinned, while glancing over to Malcolm. The sight of his lover always kind of warmed his heart, making him feel loved, cherished, even in moments like these, when they were on duty and Malcolm Reed all the officer and gentleman. He noticed a slight change in Malcolm's body language and knew without Mal even looking at him that his lover felt the need to change into a more comfortable sitting position. Yep, the night had been quite long, and Trip was glad for a change that HE could remain standing.

"What's wrong with that, Trip? Have a guest, even if it's a diplomat, is part of our job description, you know. What could possibly go wrong?"

Trip looked at the woman who had stepped off the shuttle pod, and whistled inwardly. She was a real looker, slightly tanned skin, almond-shaped brown eyes and shining black hair that made Trip think of a raven's wing. The image was perfected by her attire: a shining red silk Sari If it hadn't been for Malcolm, she would have just been his type, Trip listened absentmindedly to the niceties she shared with the captain.

"Ambassador Ragashwar, may I introduce my chief engineer, Commander Tucker?"

"Commander." She smiled at him openly, and Trip could see the warmth and intelligence in her brown eyes. If he had his doubts of how a woman of her age could become ambassador, they were gone with the wind at that precise moment. There was definitely a sharp mind behind the beautiful surface.

"Ambassador." He took the offered hand and, with a little twinkle, bend over and kissed it.

"I see you are a true officer and gentleman, commander. I really like to see more of your famous ship, Captain. Including the engines. Maybe Commander Tucker would like to show me around?" It wasn't exactly a question.

"My pleasure, ambassador."

"I think I'd like to start with the bridge."

"Wouldn't you like to see your room first?" Archer asked, but the ambassador just shot him a smile.

"I have plenty of time for my room, captain, but not too much for the sightseeing tour. Besides, I have to catch up on my engineering skills a little. Been a while till I had the chance to look at one, let alone a Warp 5 engine. And commander," she turned and took his offered arm, " I heard about your interesting weaponry. Is there any chance to look at the phase cannons, too?"  
Vulcan ambassador, huh?

"You should meet our armory officer, ma'am. He'd be happy to show you."  
Trip accompanied the ambassador to the bridge, delighted and surprised by her technical knowledge and expertise. He caught a stern look from Jon, but noticed the smile tugging at his captain's lips nevertheless. Archer never had been one for protocol, so if the ambassador didn't care for it either it was just fine with him, Trip knew.

"Ma'am, the crew proudly presents—the bridge."

"Excellent."

Every time Trip entered the bridge his first gaze wandered over to his right, to Malcolm's station. So this time he saw the armory officer's head snap up at the female voice, noticed the sharp intake of breath and the way Malcolm's face lost its color. Now what the...? The ambassador turned at the small sound, and a genuine smile parted her lips.

"Malcolm! Is that you?"

"Maya?"

Okay, so they knew each other. Not that much a problem...Trip's face fell when he watched his lover getting suddenly embraced tightly by a beautiful female ambassador—and hug back. So they knew each other well...

"Maya, please..."

"I didn't know you were lieutenant, Mal. And serving here..."

"I didn't know you are an ambassador now, Maya."

She shrugged.

"So? You know me, and you know dad. Everything for his little girl—whether said girl likes it or not. Now, there's a promise you have to keep."

And there, in front of the whole bridge crew, in public, Trip felt his jaw hit the floor when Malcolm Reed, his lover, officer by the book, was soundly kissed by a diplomat.

In the stunned silence that followed, Trip's sharp intake of breath appeared like an explosion. Malcolm pulled back, obviously deeply embarrassed and avoiding to look at anybody, especially him.

"Mal?" Trip whispered shocked while he met the ambassador's puzzled frown.

"Aw no, Malcolm. Don't tell me you haven't told anybody?"

"Malcolm?" Archer queried calmly.

Malcolm inhaled deeply, while his shoulders seemed to slump. Slump? Malcolm Reed? Never.

"May I introduce Somaya Ragashwar-Reed. My wife."

Trip didn't think. He didn't even pretend to do such a thing; the only thing he was able to hear when the doors wooshed shut behind him as he fled the bridge was Malcolm's calm voice saying something he had never ever expected to hear.  
"My wife." Trip clenched his hands into fists as he leaned at he elevator wall, not caring if it would bring him anywhere.

My wife.

As in legally wedded. Till death do us part.

So much for being honest, Malcolm Reed.

And his world shattered.


End file.
